cup of kindness

He moved,
Slowly at first,
Fearing what warmth he had,
Might be lost,
As the cold blade of air,
Pierced his cardboard covered frame.
Then,
He looked up, into the Son,
As fresh spittle met with stale,
In his matted beard.
Unspoken questions,
Showed,
Fleetingly in his tired eyes,
Twisted fingers clawed at the mug,
Holding hope of a moment's warmth,
"Because", motioned the Son.
In knowing answer,
To questions left unasked
"Because you are my Son.
And I love you".